


Word Play

by Vatukka



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 09:56:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vatukka/pseuds/Vatukka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There will be horny mechs, drunk mechs, sad mechs, laughing mechs, bleeding mechs and so on.</p><p>Little ficlets based on prompts given to me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dai AtlasxAxe

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Word Play  
> Fandom: IDW's G1/G1  
> Pairing/Characters: Dai AtlasxAxe  
> Rating: K+  
> Disclaimer: Transformers belong to Hasbro/Takara.
> 
> Thank you, GGG for being my beta.

"Normal talk"  
_Thinking_  
_::Bonds::_

 

* * *

 

_**Apodyopis** \- The act of mentally undressing someone_

He knew he was staring but so was everybody else.

The mech stepping into the ring had that kind of effect; he’d enter a crowded room and _everybody_ would notice him. He commanded attention like a general, his whole frame demanding respect and obedience, the latter forcened by the strong EM field that made weaker soldiers waver on their kneestruts.

Not to mention the mech was also “hot as Pit!”. Not his words, but they were quite true.

Then Dai Atlas unsheathed his sword, the big white wings flaring out as he started his attack, and Axe thought he might as well just self-combust right there and then.

The big frame moved like that of a dancer’s; fluid and graceful but there was strength in there too. A look of concentration ruled the stern face. Suddenly Axe felt the strongest urge to see what kind of face Dai Atlas made when the big mech was in the midst of pleasure.

When the last of the auto-combatants fell down, the big triple-changer stopped; slowly drawing himself to his full height. The mech next to Axe was reduced to garbling static, and you could hear more than one set of fans spinning wildly in the awed audience as they stared at the mech standing in the middle of the ring.There were more gasps when the blue armor flared out and the big wings trembled, held proudly in the air.

And if you craned your head _just_ right, you could see the soft blue glow of the protoform underneath all that battle armor, and if that didn’t send a mech’s internal charge skyrocketing, then you had to be halfway into the scrapheap.

Dai Atlas sheathed his sword and turned around, the burning red optics sweeping through the rows of stunned and quite aroused mechs. Axe knew that there was not a single mech in the room who did not imagine having that same look directed at them, preferably with them lying on their back and the triple-changer looming over them.

Or underneath.

Axe wasn’t picky. 

* * *

_**Gymnophoria** \- The sensation that someone is mentally undressing you_

The prickle started again at the base of his wings, the tips unfolding and folding. His proximity sensors reported that there was no physical presence within several mechanometers, though.

Dai Atlas rumbled quietly with unease.

As a veteran of several out-world campaigns, he had come to know that the so called ‘gut feeling’ the organics claimed experiencing held true even with Cybertronians. This particular gut feeling had started plaguing him ever since he had held that demonstration ten orns ago, and Dai Atlas had been more than aware of the… _reaction_ it had gained.

Usually it ended there. Most of those wanting to berth with him were too intimidated to approach while the rest were held off by strict orders.

His wings twitched again, both of them, and they rose higher from their relaxed state. The prickle ceased, the source of it disappearing as they realized they had been noticed. Again.

Ten orns…

Dai Atlas allowed the smallest hint of a smirk to spread on his lips. Make it another ten and he would find the mech himself.

* * *

_**Brontide** \- The low rumbling of distant thunder_

The storm had been brewing for three orns; dark, reddish brown clouds hanging low over the ever-bustling Iacon. The occasional flashes of light and distant rumbles were grim reminders of the dangerous rain that was just waiting for to fall down. Mechs were understandably tense; on the third orn the air-space was almost empty of fliers and other avian traffic while the streets below the surface were crammed, bordering chaos. The last he had heard was that the Prime had organized some of his personal guards to help the strained police force.

Three orns stretched into five and then the skies opened and acid rain fell all over the city. The main target of the storm's full wrath was the inner area of Iacon itself. The corrosive rains battered the buildings and those stupid enough that had not looked for a shelter yet.

Stupid mechs like Axe.

He cursed, the skydart swerving dangerously as Axe raced through the rain and towards the nearest traffic tunnel. The corrosive rain fell against his plating, eating the finish and droplets glided towards the armor seams. A flash of light, followed by a BOOM blinded Axe's optics and turned his audial feed into static. The mech couldn't stop his armor flaring out in surprise, making his protoform vulnerable to the acid rain.

The big mech hissed as the corrosive liquid found its way into the wiring of his arm, disabling it.

With one arm out of commission, Axe was not able to correct his steering, the high speed of the skydart making it veer out of control. He saw the fast approaching wall, processor automatically calculating how soon he would hit it and the possible force of the impact, comparing the numbers to the damage he would get by jumping off.

Another loud boom tore through the air and Axe released his hold, hoping there would be enough to scrape him off the road so far down below and put back together.

The feeling of falling lasted for an astrosecond, the eerie sensation of no gravity he had experienced only once before. Then Axe's proximity sensors burst into action, warning him of the quickly approaching surface. Another batch of sensors swept upwards, looking for an option to stop the fall. And even with the acid burning his face, Axe frowned as the results came back, certain that the readings were glitching.

The blue optics un-shuttered, concentrating and as the lightning flashed again, Axe saw a big jet dive down from the skies and towards him.

The flier transformed, engines screaming and before Axe really realized it, he was caught, pulled tight against his rescuer’s chest. The white wings spread, the big triple-changer performing a maneuver Axe had seen only Seekers to achieve.

Shocked optics stared at the stern face of his rather unexpected rescuer, who spared the smaller mech a brief glance with his fiery red optics.

Axe allowed himself to mutter a sub-vocal “scrap” as he settled for the flight, trying to ignore the way the big hands secured him tightly against the hot frame, shielding Axe from the acid rain, or the vibrations the powerful engines send through his frame as Dai Atlas flew them away.

** **  
The servant rushed for aid, yellow optics big and frightened, when Dai Atlas entered his chambers, frame smoking from the acid. He sternly told the servant to leave them alone, the EM field of the mech in his arms recoiling ever so lightly at the order. Dai Atlas ignored it as he took the shortest route to the washracks. His main priority was to get rid of the any remnants of the acid on his and the other mech's armor.

Placing the other on the stool, where Dai Atlas sat, when wings were being detailed, the big mech made some adjustments to the washrack’s programming. The solvent started flowing from the three showerheads, thicker and cooler than normally. Satisfied, Dai Atlas tugged the black mech up, pushing him under the spray, back against the wall. He waited till the other was completely drenched, before starting from the wide pauldrons, white hands rubbing the warm metal in slow circles.

Underneath the golden chevron, a pair of alert optics followed his every move. The smaller mech’s field was pulled tight against his frame, revealing almost next to nothing just like the blank faceplates.

Once Dai Atlas was done with the pauldrons, he moved onto the functioning arm, carefully twisting it in order to for the solvent to reach between the plating and the protoform. Satisfied, he reached for the other arm, Dai Atlas frowned, when the appendage hung limply in his hold, indicating the acid rain had managed to damage it more than he had initially thought.

“You will need to see a medic for this,” he informed, fingers slowly massaging the dual-colored hands.

The controlled field flickered, and Dai Atlas was able to feel the slightest hint of displeasure before it settled again. “I am aware of that,” a deep voice answered, the tone neutral, and Dai Atlas found it quite pleasant, even if it held the faintest trace of a Tarnian accent.

The silence fell between them again, the only sounds being the muted booms of storm still brewing upon the city, the rushing solvent and the pitter-patter of droplets hitting metal. The lights of the washracks flickered once but it did not break the silence between the two mechs.

“Seventeen.”

The black helm raised sharply, the blue optics staring up at Dai Atlas in confusion so obvious even as the smaller mech’s control slipped. For a moment Dai Atlas felt the other’s EM field wash over his, strong and vibrant that he almost reached out to meet with his own.

Almost.

“For seventeen orns I’ve been… _watched_ ,” Dai Atlas explained, and the other’s field flared in a mix of shock and embarrassment. The startled gaze turned downwards as the mech reined in his field once again, watching his limp hand that was still being held by the white ones. “For seventeen orns I have felt optics on my back, following my steps in the halls of the Grand Imperium and even during my leisure flights. But not once have I seen the one watching me, just felt their presence, before vanishing again. Not even the guards could pinpoint the location of my follower, much to their frustration.

“Today would’ve been the eighteenth orn. I wasn’t expecting them to be this persistent, to be reckless enough to risk their lives for an infatuation. And yet they came, right before the storm. But this time I was able to see them, a skydart leaving in haste just as the rain began falling.”

Dai Atlas kept massaging the limp hand as he spoke, red optics focused on the blue ones that refused to meet his. The storm rumbled again, as if to remind it was still there, but the two mechs paid no attention to it.

“There was no reason to follow me,” the mech finally murmured, and Dai Atlas was pleased that he wasn’t trying to deny the truth.

“You are right. There was not,” he answered, thoughtful, as the triple-changer recalled how he had been watching the retreating skydart, before the acid rain made it impossible to see anything. Dai Atlas did not know why it had happened; the moment the first lightning struck he had been out and flying after the disappearing skydart long before his transformation had finished. “And yet...”

The smaller mech shifted, armor ruffling and settling again. “I apologize for my behavior, it was out of order. If you feel like contacting my commander for my punishment, I can fully understand that,” he said quietly and tilted his helm just enough to look at Dai Atlas in the optics before bowing respectfully, “senator.”

Dai Atlas scowled, wings flaring and rising. He didn’t answer, instead turning off the showers. The blue optics blinked, confused, but the mech didn’t say a thing, when Dai Atlas tugged him out of the washracks and started drying the wet frame.

** **

“Senator -- ,“ Axe started again but was silenced by the low growl of powerful engines, the warning even more impressive as it blend together with the rumbles of the thunder.

His CPU tripped from surprise and arousal, trying to come up with an explanation for Dai Atlas’ behavior. He knew the mech followed strict personal rules and was a harsh but just commander. The actions Axe had done, the borderline stalking, was something the senator would have not wasted time punishing his own soldiers for.

So why had he not been carted away by guards and facing his commander for a dressing down?

“What is your designation, soldier?”

The question caught him off guard and for a moment Axe thought the acid rain had damaged his audios, but the expecting look the bigger mech had begged to differ.

“Axe, senator.”

The hands stopped for a fraction of a klik, before continuing the drying. “Axe,” Dai Atlas repeated, slowly.

The black mech almost shivered, when the glyphs of his designation were carefully pronounced by that deep, rumbling voice. Axe could not deny it made his internal temperature raise a notch but he was better than that at controlling his frame, his field.

“Senator,” Axe spoke, calm but determined. The red optics narrowed, the crowned helm tilting. “Senator, I am prepared to -- “

“The medic is here.”

This time he couldn’t stop himself, open confusion spreading on his face as Axe’s processor tried to understand the unexpected words.

“Excuse me?”

For a moment Axe was certain his shock amused the other mech. But before he could confirm the smirk had been there, his arm was released and Dai Atlas moved away. Uncertain, Axe turned on his heel, following the retreating back with his optics.

The big triple-changer stopped at the door of the washracks, turning just enough for the red optics to meet his cautious gaze.

“Perhaps I should ask for the medic to check, if there’s any audial damage, _Axe_ ,” Dai Atlas commented and this time Axe did see the small smirk.

The black mech blinked, his previous befuddlement turning into mischief. “Perhaps… _Dai Atlas_."

The wide wings flared, white panels flashing in the flickering lights and for a moment Axe thought he heard the deep purr of highly-tuned engines through the booming of the storm.


	2. RatchetxTwins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Word Play  
> Fandom: IDW's G1/G1  
> Pairing/Characters: RatchetxSunstreakerxSideswipe  
> Rating: K+  
> Summary/Warnings: Drunk mechs being horny  
> Disclaimer: Transformers belong to Hasbro/Takara.
> 
> Thank you, GGG for being my beta.

"Normal talk"  
_Thinking_  
_::Bonds::_

 

* * *

_**Capernoited** \- Slightly intoxicated or tipsy_

Sideswipe's visual feed was too sharp (too many details and a whole slew of new shades in the color spectra was… _interesting_ ) and his audio feed too sensitive (Chromia was officially his new idol, if she really had made Ironhide do _that_ ). His optics moved restlessly all over the place, fingers tapping the table in a fast, irregular rhythm. Sideswipe could almost feel the energy skittering inside of him, the charge trying to find an outlet but failing, as Sideswipe took another sip of the high-grade. His internal core temperature jumped as the new wave of energy hit him, fans clicking on and flailing. There was just too much excess energy for Sideswipe's frame to channel by just sitting still.

Overcharge was different with every mech. Frontliners, like him and Sunstreaker, were built for speed while being heavily armored to take pretty much anything the enemy threw at them and then some. When they ingested high grade, they usually got energetic. They didn't reach the level of disorientation and scrambled equilibrium chips others did unless they drowned themselves into the stuff.

It still gave a mech a pleasant buzz, once you dialed down your sensors.

Sideswipe was reaching out for more high-grade, when he felt something jostle him, or, more precisely his spark.

It was like somebody came and bashed him right into his chest. But instead of a blunt weapon, he was hit with overwhelming lust. Sideswipe's fans stuttered, shocked, before cranking up, spinning loudly as an arousal (that was _not_ his own) started an inferno in his interface equipment.

 _::Sunstreaker…::_ Sideswipe growled, annoyed. The red twin gritted his denta as his over-charged sensors honed in on the subject of Sunstreaker's lust with the intensity of a hunter.

 _::Fragger, stop that, we agreed that we… should not…::_ Sideswipe's snarl trailed off as he fully registered just who was Sunstreaker's "target". _::Oh_ frag _.::_

* * *

_**Apodyopis** \- The act of mentally undressing someone_

Sunstreaker smirked, when he felt Sideswipe's own lust hit him with the gracefulness of Devastator, but he didn't look away from his prey. Not even when his brother made an interesting sound that was somewhere between a needy whimper and a breathless groan.

The predatory optics followed the big mech's every single move from his tapping foot to the way he brought the cube to his lip plates, slowly drinking the high-grade. Even from a distance, Sunstreaker could see the shift in the neck cables, the way they moved as the mech swallowed the liquid.

The yellow mech wondered how those intakes would feel against his spike; to watch that mouth stretch wide open as he'd slowly push inside while Sideswipe would keep that white helm in place. Would the mech gag? Or perhaps he knew how to loosen his neck cabling like some of the mechs Sunstreaker had met. It was possible; medics were usually very familiar with their… _limits_.

Whatever was the case, it would definitely look hot. And if he was as good as Sunstreaker believed him to be, it would be only fair to return the favor, by using those sensitive hand to finger-frag himself. Or Sideswipe and he could frag the medic, one at a time or together, it didn't really matter.

The powerful engine purred, the rumble barely audible in the loud cacophony of noises that filled the crowded rec. room. Sunstreaker could feel identical tremors coming from his side as Sideswipe agreed.

* * *

_**Gymnophoria** \- The sensation that someone is mentally undressing you_

Ratchet paid no attention to the two horny frontliners. Really, who did they think they were fooling? He had felt their interest almost immediately, the suggestive tingles coming in waves, brushing against the edges of his EM field almost like physical touches.

It felt nice, he had to admit that. Ratchet hummed sub-vocally as he drank more high-grade and the brushes became stronger as the twins' lust spiked, turning into possessive strokes. He shivered, when the combined EM fields pulled back, only to return soon, the ghost-like touches careful but determined.

Let the two glitches steam for another breem, Ratchet thought. Then he'd find out, if the twins knew how to frag a mech properly. If not, well, Ratchet was more than ready to remedy that.


	3. Various pairings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Word Play  
> Fandom: IDW's G1/G1  
> Pairing/Characters: Ultra MagnusxRodimus, DriftxRatchet, Dai AtlasxAxe, SoundwavexStarscream  
> Rating: K+  
> Summary/Warnings: Mild spoilers concerning MTMTE #19  
> Disclaimer: Transformers belong to Hasbro/Takara.
> 
> Thank you, GGG for being my beta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote Duende before MTMTE #20 was published, so I do know what really happened and I'm living in sweet, sweet denial.

"Normal talk"  
_Thinking_  
_::Bonds::_

 

* * *

  _ **Ultracrepidarian** \- Of one who speaks or offers opinions on matters beyond their knowledge_

Magnus stopped mid-sentence, when he noticed Rodimus’ wasn’t paying attention to him. Again. When he reproached the other for this, Rodimus rolled his optics.

"Magnus, this isn’t the war," the fiery colored captain reminded, slouching in his chair, “I think it’s safe to say that Chief Justice Tyrest isn’t interested in crooked badges or Whirl trying to play lobb with the medibots — Ratchet took care of that already, why didn’t you make a report about _him?_ — or the fact that my flame decorations aren’t the right shade of red.”

Magnus’ engine rumbled, the only sign of displeasure the big mech allowed himself to show. “Rodimus — “

"No, Magnus. You may be the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord, but on this ship you are _my_ officer and you follow _my_ orders. It’s not like Tyrest can _make_ you do his bidding. No one has even seen him for vorns…”

Magnus stiffened, a strained expression crossing his face that Rodimus failed to notice as he idly traced the engraving on his desk.

"Besides," Rodimus continued, lips twisting into that familiar, cocky smirk Magnus had grown to both dread and — illogically enough — adore. The bright optics turned to look at him, the brilliant shade of blue reminding Magnus just why Optimus had renamed Hot Rod as Rodimus. “We can do something else right now…"

The low purr of a highly tuned engine filled the room as Rodimus rose and slowly made his way to Magnus, one hand hooking on the chest armor. The bigger mech gave another sigh but allowed himself to be pulled down for a kiss.

"You know this would be a lot easier, if you were smaller," Rodimus mused as he nuzzled the big hand cradling his helm.

Ultra Magnus didn’t smile, not that Rodimus expected it, but the look in his optics was solemn, almost sad. “Be careful what you wish for…”

 

* * *

_**Gargalesthesia** -The sensation caused by tickling_

It was an odd experience but by no means a bad one. It felt like his sensors were glitching, sending corrupted information — pleasure mixed with pain that was not pain, not like a blaster shot — into his CPU while the other parts of Drift’s processor were sending futile orders to his spasming frame, trying to make him curl away from his “attacker”.

His vocalizer had given up breems ago, the only sounds coming from him were basic binary and a squawk or two or ten — Drift would later on deny making such noises — and the steady hum of fans desperately trying to cool down his convulsing frame.

"Give up?" Ratchet smirked. The evil, _evil_ fingers stilled just enough for the mixed sensory alerts to stop and for Drift to gulp for more air.

He had to reset his vocalizer twice before croaking a hoarse “never” and flashing a shaky grin on top of it.

 

* * *

_**Duende** \- Unusual power to attract or charm _

He stumbled across the field of dead mechs and mutilated Legislators.

There were sparking wounds across his armor, fluids of different colors slowly falling on the ground as he slowly moved forward. His optics were unfocused, warnings of different system failures filling the world with hues of red.

But he couldn’t stop. Not now. _He_ was calling for him, and Dai Atlas had to find _him_.

Half-blinded, the big mech relied on his spark, to the last remnants of what had once been a strong, vibrant presence.

Dai Atlas had howled, spat curses, even pleaded, when they had taken started taking away his people, when he had started to fade away. Dai Atlas had hated himself, had hated the sense of helplessness for not being able to be there for his people, for _him_.

But not this time.

Finally, he found what he was looking for, a pile of crumbled Legislators. They were all almost identical but even without faces, it felt like they were mocking Dai Atlas for his failure. Slowly, carefully, he started to pull them aside. Tyrest might have used them as mere pawns, but to Dai Atlas they were still his people, the ones he had sworn to protect. He would respect them even in death.

It took time but eventually Dai Atlas stopped. The Legislator’s face was just as blank as the others but the very moment the big mech saw it, his spark had flared and Dai Atlas _knew_.

Falling on his knees, what the little strenght he had possessed finally leaving his frame, Dai Atlas reached out with two shaking hands.Gently, he cradled the unfamiliar helm — it was too smooth, too round — before pressing his forehead against the cold metal.

 _::Found you::_ Dai Atlas whispered, sending his love and apologies through the frail connection.

The tattered ends of the sparkbond pulsed weakly, the warmth that was Axe embracing Dai Atlas for one last time.

_::Finally…::_

* * *

_**Lygerastia** \- The condition of one who is only amorous when the lights are out_

He hadn’t expected it. The little fantasies he had fostered and the reality were nothing alike but, surprisingly, what really bothered him was something else completely.

The darkness surrounded them, as black as the depths of the sea outside the window. But he, _they_ , could still see even without the light. They had sensors that tracked what the humans called UV light and infrared, but far more sophisticated.

And even if all those sensors somehow got cut off, there were still other ways to navigate through. Some mechs had even specialized in being visually blind, their kind were one of the most dangerous the war had produced.

But his lover wasn’t one of them. His kind relied heavily on visual feed among other sensors but the way those servos were moving, playing with Soundwave’s frame, made the Communications Officer doubt Starscream’s true origins.

The seeker’s optics were dark and lifeless, Soundwave had checked it, before Starscream had tapped his face, right on the nose, smirking. After that he had followed the seeker’s lead, turning off everything.

But unlike Starscream, he was hesitant, his movements unsure, while the seeker wasn’t. He tried to caress the wings, but Soundwave miscalculated, instead grabbing the shoulder vent. Trying to hide his error, Soundwave moved his hands to hold the seeker’s helm but he missed again, Starscream having already moved to tease another part of his frame, leaving Soundwave grab at nothing.

That was what bothered him, having to realize he was lacking something that made him feel annoyingly vulnerable.

He heard Starscream laugh at his fumbling, the sound somehow more hoarse than normal. The powerful engine purred, the vibrations feeling stronger and more arousing and Soundwave was sure the hot air blowing out of the seeker’s vents was going to scorch his paint.

Then they were face to face -- the only way Soundwave knew this was because of the hard kiss, the sharp denta biting his lipplates.

"Don’t worry," Starscream whispered, the lithe frame grinding against Soundwave’s writhing one and he could hear the smirk in his lover’s voice. "I will teach you."


End file.
